Acting stupid
by BrownFeather
Summary: It's advent, so Italy visits Germany in his snowy place to spend some happy time with him. Germany is really not in the mood to be cheered up, though.
1. Acting stupid

**A/N**

**Hey there! :)**

**Thanks for taking a look! :-)**

**This is a little advent gift for all Italy x Germany fans. ^.^ **

* * *

**Acting stupid**

„Geerrmanyyy!" Italy rushed into his neighbour's heated workroom, where that very man sat at his desk, swiftly flipping through some paperwork. Germany looked up, nodded shortly, and turned back to his papers. His eyebrows creased slightly.

Italy took off his boots covered with winter snow and entered the timber flooring room. He held up the two fancy paper bags he carried in his hands. "Germany, since it's advent, I brought you some _pannettone_!" he beamed. "I even wrapped it the way you like it. It's a quite convenient way to wrap something nicely, actually…"

"Oh, really." Germany's eyes widened a little. He took off his glasses and turned around to his guest. "I assumed you'd only drop in in order to fetch something."

"Noo-ho, I have prepared a present for you!" Italy answered happily and rushed over to Germany's desk.

The blonde looked hesitant. _Actually_, he had work to do, he was _busy_ working, on serious problems, in fact, and besides, he felt a headache slowly becoming more intense. "Italy..." He thought about a nice way to kick Italy out and about another date to listen to the surely hours-long chatting of his warm-hearted but sometimes annoying neighbour.

"Vee, I heard you and the other countries up north had snow. I haven't seen any in my place, except for the Alps."

"Yes, thanks. Um..."

"Here you are." Northern Italy happily put both bags on Germany's desk.

"Thank you." Germany disapprovingly moved them over since they covered the documents and forms he had been filling out. "Italy, that's nice, but would you please go somewhere and do something quietly?" His voice had become harsh now. "I have work to do."

"You do? Oh, come on. Don't you have any spare time? You need to relax more, Germany! Speaking of relaxing..."

Now Germany furrowed his brows. "Italy, I can _not_. Now leave me alone!"

"Oh." The lanky boy looked disappointed. "By the way, I forgot to ask you: will you drop by in summer again?"

Germany gritted his teeth. "Yes."

"Great! Also, what about advent, have you already started baking?"

Now, Germany was about to lose it. "I'm busy, I have serious problems to solve! I don't know how but I'll have to come up with something, so you just shut up and leave me alone!" He banged his palms on the table. "You and everyone else!" His ice-blue eyes had an oddly exhausted gleam, yet they were still glowing with anger. "Just give me a break, all of you! I am just fine on my own! I want to be alone. Just leave."

That outburst surprised Italy. But he was used to his blonde companion shouting. He knew very well that actually Germany hated being alone. Solitude made him gloomy.

So Italy stayed. Just stood still and looked at the man he called his friend, trying to figure out why he had gotten so mad.

They were both silent, Germany standing behind his desk, hands still on the desk surface, Italy on the other side. "Are you stressed out?" Italy eventually said. "Then you could make a winter break, like..."

"Italy, leave me alone for now! I work, you cause trouble, I help, you cause trouble again – and besides, I don't like pannettone! –" Italy felt his shoulders slouch. "Why don't you leave my house and stop bothering me?"

There was utter silence.

"I know I'm the one who came over . But didn't you want me to come over, too?"* Italy asked. Calmly. Bluntly. Cooly. Like Germany did when he was really angry but did not feel enough affection for his opponent to shout. Not like him, Italy, at all. But his light brown eyes had adopted a dark colour and a burning shimmer. He looked a lot like his brother this moment.

Germany looked at him. Their glances met. It was silent again until Germany said: "You weren't planning on going home in this weather, were you?" Italy blinked in surprise. "I didn't." He was about to add a fuming statement that he'd rather go now.

"Do as you please. I'll be out." Germany took his papers he had been working on, tossed them aside fiercely, letting them lie on the desk orderlessly as they were now and then strode out of the room.

"Germany?"

The front door slammed shut.

* * *

_Fesso._

Italy sat on the sofa in Germany's living room, head in hands, and gloomily brooded.

Germany getting mad at him was alright.

Germany losing it and hurting his feelings was not alright at all.

This time, Italy was really hurt. He had put much effort into the pannettone.

Out of politeness, Germany would usually at least have eaten it and wouldn't have said anything.

But even that was useless now. Italy knew that he simply didn't like it. _It's my self-made pannettone. You haven't even tried it!_

The guy was so – so stiff, working all the time and expecting the same attitude from everyone else, venting his anger on others, being stern, sometimes just being sullen and grumpy and ill-humoured, even if you tried really hard to cheer him up. Always ready to scowl, always ready to shout… Italy dejectedly dropped his hands.

But, on the other side, he was just – nice. Good-natured. He could be quite sociable, he listened attentively, with interest, ready to comfort... He was always ready to help him. He was honest, could be cruelly blunt, but also amazingly reserved, and polite. He would respect you... unless you were – let's say, too cheerful. _Or me_, Italy thought, saddened.

_And I hate your stupid biscuits! And __whatever!_

Which, in fact, was not true.

Weighed down and disappointed, Italy idly looked around. Outside in the hallway there were his boots and winter coat. The snow would have to have melted now. His clothes surely were wet by now. Italy stood up, fetched them and laid them onto the armchair next to the fireplace in the living room.

Germany would possibly go off again if he saw the wet clothing lying on his chair that messy. Italy rearranged them.

Nothing left to do.

Italy started to roam about the house.

It was quiet now in the empty house, much too quiet for his taste.

If he hurried, he could be back home again by tomorrow evening.

Italy strolled back to the hallway. He was getting hungry. He could eat something... _No potatoes_, Italy swore to himself. _No wurst, no beer, and no bread._ Nothing that - that depressing _jerk_ would like! He should have some noodles somewhere. Italy looked for some. He could make at least something of them.

* * *

The box was around medium size and quite handy. It lay between the storage jar for flour and the one for noodles. Its plain exterior concealed the content. Three kinds of biscuits and a small chocolate _Weihnachtsmann_. Italy shut the jar again and reread what was written on the note pasted on the lid.

"_Für Italien_"

Italy had spent quite some time with Germany, so he was quite sure what these letters meant.

_For Italy. _

The brown-haired boy quietly looked at the jar. Then he took one biscuit.

_Fesso_, again.

Where was he, by the way?

It had gotten pretty dark outside. Italy took a look at the clock. Only quarter to seven.

_Maybe I should go now._ Italy took his boots and opened the front door. He immediately jerked back.

_Santi Numi_, that was cold! Some small icy snowflakes whirled in the freezing air. Not good weather to go home in. The way up here had been snowy enough. Italy swiftly closed the door.

But really, where was Germany?

Italy pulled the curtains of the window in the living room aside. Someone hat neatly shoveled the snow hours ago, but everything was covered with a thin blanket of snow again. The street was not salted yet. It was slippery out there, wasn't it?

Italy decided to cook something for himself and wait for Germany to come back. All acting stupid aside, Italy was worried about him.

* * *

*This is a reference to Italian foreign worker's history in Germany

Word explanations:

pannettone: Italian Christmas pastry

fesso: Italian; wally, dumbass, muppet

Weihnachtsmann: German, Santa Claus

Santi Numi: Italian, Oh god! Oh my gosh!

* * *

**A/N**

**First chapter done. Whew!**

**I hope you like it. **

**And if not, please tell me why. I want to make it better. ^^ **

**I am busy too XD, but I will upload the next chapter as soon as I can. **


	2. Sobering up

Chapter 2: **Sobering up**

"Hey hey! What can I do for you? Anything to drink?"

Oh, great.

Germany's bad mood was practically dripping down him. Today they had put on some strange, freaky, annoying music, and this evening that enthusiastic guy named Alfred worked as the bartender. Not a good combination.

. "A..." A beer, he had wanted to say. But a beer was a drink for celebrating. Or going out. A drink to enjoy, at any rate. "A red wine, please", he said.

"Oho, a wine? Any special one?"

"Yes."

Germany drank wine, sometimes. His own ones, some dry, some mild. But today he'd toss down that sweet rich stuff Italy made.

Mr. Jones, not able to do much about his broody customer, gave him his drink and actively moved on to the next one.

Germany took a gulp. He coughed.

Sweet. Heavy.

But good.

Like how that guy was always just too much, but he was always just too sweet, too. Damn it. He felt bad about Italy.

He was so – so annoying.

Seeing life as a game. Like playing, not able to manage his own economy, not his safety, not even to organise one single event. He was not one bit earnest, not even eager about anything. Just chatting, smiling, relishing, and never, never was he able to shut up and let him, Germany, enjoy silence.

And then, he called for help, again and again. Was he that boy's nurse?! Surely not!

Not only Italy. Germany felt like everything was getting to be too much for him.

_I love work. I do love it. But right now, it's increasing more and more._

The wine had already tasted good when Germany had drunk the first glass, but it continued to taste better and better.

_I would like to stop. Or to have everyone listen to me. Once, at least. Why don't they do what I say? I think before speaking, damn it. _

_No idea how to solve that crisis. Everyone says something different. France's got some ideas. Same with the others. We're trying to do this together, but nothing works! What to do...*_

Germany let out a heavy sigh.

_Where will this lead? I can't even encourage myself anymore. _

_And he – __**he**__'s always cheerful. Well, he can be! Does he stew over solving financial problems intertwined that complicated? Of course he does not!_

Somehow, Germany was jealous.

_Not really. Not really. Just – wish I could be as relaxed as him sometimes. Not that I'd want to be him, hell no!_

Italy acting stupid again.

Annoying, maybe. But, on the other hand, Italy was just – lovable. Cheerful. Vivacious. Always able to feel affection. He spread his simple happiness. It was like Italy was not able to hate anyone. He could be quite temperamental, sure, but never did you see him scowl. He would just burst into your private thoughts, into your bad mood, not caring at all if you liked it or not, and he was able to make you smile. Just like that. Even though you did not want to.

And, also, it was not like Italy did not work. It was just – just -

It had not been Italy's fault that everything was so demanding.

_Verdammt, verdammt. I'm not able to solve that crisis; I'm not even able to show him that I want to be a friend._

He'd eat one whole pannettone every day if he could erase that sad look from Italy's eyes again.

_My fault. Ah... It's not like I'd hate pannettone. They're just too sweet and... whatever... What did I want to say...? Think..._ Germany grabbed his forehead_. I can't think straight anymore... Not good. I should be going. _

He really felt like getting drunk now, but getting drunk only on wine was not a good idea. Additionally, Germany knew his behavior was becoming stupid.

He'd better go now.

Germany had some trouble standing up since his view was blurring. He somehow managed to stumble out of the bar. Standing in the opened door, in the light falling onto the street he saw some dainty snow, mixed with rain. On his cheeks, Germany could feel that the air had become less glacial. It was thawing. For the last time of the year, some warm wind had come down from the Alps. From further down in the South. From Italy's place.

Germany sighed heavily, put his cap on his head, and unsteadily headed home. That dark red wine stuff had been too much, it seemed.

* * *

The moment he heard some noise in the hallway, Italy jumped up. "Germany?"

He pushed the door open.

Out there in the dusky hall Germany stood. He supported himself against the whitewashed wall. He was taking off his shoes. And, strange to say, seemed to have problems doing that.

He did not really react to Italy standing in the opened door of the living room.

"Um, hello", Italy said, a little timidly. "You're back… Didn't you say that's not good for the wall?"

"Mmmh…" Germany muttered something.

What was going on?

Anyway, Italy couldn't contain himself anymore. "Were were you?! Germany, it's almost midnight! You usually never return that late!"

"You leave me alone!"

Italy swallowed disappointedly. "Well, I'm… sorry for making you mad earlier" he apologized. But with Germany, something was wrong. He spoke slowly, and somehow… "Germany? Are you drunk?"

Italy reached for the light switch.

Germany winced and covered his eyes with one arm. Reacting much slower than usually. "Italy!" he protested somehow distracted. His cheeks had an unnatural red colour. And he was pale.

And simply drunk. Approaching Germany, Italy could smell the reek of cigarettes and alcohol and many people in a room. "Er, um…" It wasn't like Italy didn't know how to deal with a drunken person. He just wasn't sure how to deal with a drunken Germany. "Where were you?" he asked again, hoping for a sober answer.

"Drinking…" Silence. No further explanation. Germany stood there and gazed into the room, like he'd forgotten why he was there.

"I… see." Italy tentatively patted the bigger man's shoulder. "Why were you drinking?" he asked gingerly but curiously. And concerned, too. Germany avoided his eyes.

"You… You don't undershtand." His accent had gotten a lot stronger. Italy had to lean forward in order to understand his mumbling talk, and smelled the wine. "Ssere are all of you. Ssere is China, and Rushia wits his petrol. And sse Union…" Germany made an unsteady expressing everything and nothing gesture with his right hand. "And I'm working and trying and paying… I should look after myself too… Just a little burn out, you undershtand?"

"Oh, um, I did not know." It was odd to talk reasonably with a drunken person. Especially because serious talk was not Italy's strength. And Germany even didn't seem to really listen to what Italy was saying. "Poor you" he added. It seemed like a good comment. "Um, maybe you should go to bed and tomorrow we'll talk…" Italy proposed. "I'll take you to your bedroom and then you can sleep." Since there was no one else to take the initiative, Italy put his arm around Germany's back and tugged him.

Now, Germany was reacting. Unsteadily and not quite successfully, but he somehow managed to shake Italy off for a moment. "No, I want to explain… Ssere is - always you. Always you. Annoying."

Italy flinched, hurt. "But I…"

"And I can't even keep you to my side." Germany was silent for a moment. "You undershtand me?" He blinked at Italy.

The latter held his breath for a moment, without noticing it. "I – I think I do" he said. "Now, erm, you better go to bed now." A lot more gently than before, Italy took Germany's arm and took him to his room.

"You better only take your jacket off. And right, you don't sleep with dirty trousers…Take those off, too."

Germany nodded, did as Italy said, and flopped himself onto the bed, letting out a small groan as his head met the mattress.

Italy thought hard. "Well, I'll make something to eat. If you want to avoid a hangover, you better drink some water and eat something helpful now."

Germany mumbled something sounding not too happy, turning around and crawled under his warm winter covers.

* * *

"Germany! You need to wake up!"

Since the tall nation did still not react, Italy simply took the wet facecloth he had prepared and dashed it against Germany's face.

"Uuuh, whaat…?" Germany pushed the wet thing on his face aside.

"I've prepared some food for you."

Italy took a chair, sat down next to his still half sleeping companion's bed and put the tray he had prepared on his knees. "Sit up and first of all, drink something! I'm preparing some coffee. That's how I cure hangovers most times. But before that, drink some water." He persistently held his big glass of water out to Germany.

The young man gave up and groaningly sat up. Without any comment, he drank the water, gave the glass back, and immediately crawled back under his cover. "That's enough."

"It's not. Here is some food."

Germany moaned. „Leave me alone!" He turned his head away.

Oh _no_.

This was Germany's beloved one hundred percent effective sobering up dish, and he had not only cured himself with that, but also poor Italy once. He deserved this.

Rollmops. Rolled pickled herring. Italy made a face. He had carefully cut the soft fish meat and the pickled cucumber into cubes but he voluntarily did without eating some as well. "Eat it now." The boy pressed some to the German's lips.

The blonde nation pulled a face like he wanted to cry and then obediently opened his mouth and swallowed the herring-pickle-mix.

After Italy happily made Germany eat everything he had prepared, under Germany's weak protest, it seemed to help. The blonde had become less pale and looked a lot more like a human being now.

"Vee, you're looking better now. Here's a cold washcloth."

The drunken nation accepted it without any objection.

Italy became accustomed to being the one saying what was going to be done. By now, he was rather confident with the situation. "Well, now you better sleep again. I'll make your coffee."

"Thanks…"

Italy contentedly turned towards the door.

"Italy…"

Italy turned around again. "Hm? Yes?"

Some cold water drops from the facecloth streamed down Germany's forehead and into his eyes. He blinked them away, looking at his slender companion. "Italy… You are really awesome." His voice was still fuzzy, but clearer than before. He smiled a crooked smile, the words coming out of his mouth, one after another, like he absolutely wanted Italy to understand what he wanted to tell him. "Your cuisine – it's good. You can cook. You can flirt. And no matter what, you can make everything charming. You would build the cheesiest car, but you will make it so elegant on the outside that everyone will want to drive it, even if it is crappy." Was that supposed to be a compliment? "You could wear an old potato pouch and know how to make it look great on you. You are an artist." Germany lifted his hand to his aching forehead and realized the wet cloth was there. "I just wanted to tell you." He dropped his hand again.

Italy felt something gently warm his heart. He smiled a wide smile. "Thanks, Germany."

"Mmh. I mean-" Germany stared at the ceiling and fell silent again.

Italy silently closed the door of the bedroom.

* * *

For curing a hangover, Italy preferred cold coffee and lemon juice. While the aromatic scent of freshly brewed coffee spread in the room, Italy wreaked havoc in Germany's kitchen cupboards until he found the lemon squeezer. He had become tired by now, and nearly let the squeezer fall two times. _Man, I should go to sleep, too… I'll cool the coffee down. Germany can drink it in the morning. Then I'll ask him if I could stay for Christmas. That's a good idea, actually_. Italy's glance met an opened cupboard. You could tell it had been tidied up again, but obviously not every piece of cutlery was in its right place anymore. _Or maybe…Well, whatever._ Italy decided to stay optimistic.

* * *

"Germany?" Italy whispered.

Germany snored softly and seemed somehow dished.

Italy padded into the room, barefooted as he was, and cast a glance at Germany.

While asleep, he seemed so calm. And even vulnerable. The Italian nation smiled slightly. You surely could not call the tall, ripped nation cute. But he was likeable, somehow.

If he had been awake, Germany surely would have protested. But he was asleep, and therefore defenseless. Italy affectionately plonked on his friend and hugged him tightly.

Germany scowled lightly, shifted a little and a deep breath escaped his mouth. But he did not wake up. Italy smiled contentedly, and huddled his chin against the German's shoulder. It was comfortable enough, and Germany's body was warm.

All this warmth around him made Italy fall asleep very quickly.

Some soft snowflakes brushed the windowpane, as if they wanted to caress the two nations sleeping so close, and give them small icy kisses.

* * *

*Reference to the financial crisis and a short period when there was a fuss about some decisions and newspapers in every country were like: WE are the ones to be right and disadvataged here! Currently, the European Union tries to solve the crisis, or at least to do something. Germany was the country to propose a policy of cutbacks. Some other countries who were confronted like "Hey guys, give up the life you're used to have and saaave a lot :)" did not react very happily on this, of course. In Germany, people reacted like "What the heck, we are paying all these billion aid packages nonstop, aren't we!" and as in whole Europe, people's daily life is getting more expensive. (I know from a British couple and some newspaper articles in French and from people and newspapers in Germany, also reporting media reaction in Greece. ;-))

Words:

verdammt: darn, damned

* * *

**A/N:  
**

**Next chapter will be fluffy. ;-) I think.**

**By the way, I found a beta reader. :-) She'll correct the story.  
**


	3. Warm time

**A/N: So, yes, this is fluff. I've never written this before, so I don't rightly know… Just read. :D**

* * *

Chapter 3: **Warm time**

He was awoken by the bothersome movement of the warmth underneath him and a sleepy groan. "_Italien_! What are you doing? Get off!" The voice sounded startled, but much too soft and sleepy to have any effect on Italy right now, so the lanky young man only grumbled, moved a little, and refused to open his eyes.

Germany blinked, slightly annoyed, hesitated, and then just let Italy sleep where he was. Germany himself was sleepy and therefore not in the right mood to debate with Italy now anyway. And besides, Germany noticed, he did not really mind his companion sleeping on his chest.

He felt a slight numbness in his right arm, and his head ached slightly. But except for that, he felt good. Groggily, maybe. Seemed like… _Ah, right. The pickled herring Italy gave me. It did help._

Said nation murmured something in his language and smiled sleepily. He was slowly waking up.

Germany started remembering the last night. Oh, right. He blushed. _I was really drunk. Embarassing…_ He looked down at Italy who halfway covered his body, still half asleep.

He felt thankful for his companion who would never mock him, not even for being drunk and pathetic. Just help him the best he could. Germany felt like hugging him. But he'd never do that without permission; that was beyond question.

Italy never asked if he could hug you. He just did. But he did it spontaneously. Germany however thought before acting. Most of the time.

Germany carefully laid his right hand on Italy's back. The young man's scapulas felt delicate, yet stronger than Germany would have expected.

_At times you annoy me I could go out of my mind. But I would not want to lose you. I really don't._

Italy felt Germany's hand on his back, but didn't think much of it. However this changed when Germany started to casually caress Italy's back, following the line of his spine. Slowly, erratic, sometimes stopping, as if he was abstracted, thinking about something else. Still, it felt nice, so Italy did not react in any way but let his eyes closed and did not move.

In fact, it felt not only nice. Italy could not name it, but lying under this thick warm blanket, pretending to sleep while Germany had wrapped one arm around him, absentmindedly caressing his back, feeling the other one's calm breaths made the small-boned nation's heart cringe, in an a lot nicer way than the day before.

All at once, Germany cautiously shifted his body and then both his hands lay on Italy's shoulders. They started to stroke down to his waist, and then, slowly, caressing, up again to his shoulders and upper arms. Italy opened his eyes wide and gasped in surprise.

Germany instantly stopped his hands and removed them. "I'm sorry", he said, his voice quivering a little, sounding croaky. If that was because he had just woken up or because of something else, Italy could not figure out. "Don't you like it?" Now he sounded apologetic.

Somehow Italy felt that if he lifted his head now and looked straight into Germany's eyes, this would destroy the whole atmosphere. Germany would fully realize the weirdness of the situation they were in, blush embarrassed, turn his head away, and hastily untangle from their position.

So Italy only murmured: "No. It's nice."

There was silence for a moment.

Then Germany's body stiffened uncomfortably. "I-" He paused. "I am sorry."

Italy opened his eyes again, surprised. "What for?"

"For snapping. At you. You did not deserve that."

Italy assumed that the German would not be overly joyed by being patted on the head, so he only answered, smiling. "It's okay."

Germany let out a breath. "And thank you for yesterday."

"Oh – sure. You'd do the same for me, _non è vero_?"

"_Ja_… Italy? I do remember everything, I think, but… Did I behave embarrassingly?"

"It's okay" Italy reassured. "I'll like you. And look after you."

Germany gasped. "What exactly did I blather?!"

"Oh, I don't remember everything. That you're tired and unhappy and stuff. It is allright."

"I'm not!" Germany's red hue on his cheeks deepened.

"Germany?"

"Mh?"

"Are the biscuits in the box for me?"

"You found them?"

"Yes. I was searching for some noodles."

"They were a Christmas present." Germany did not sound overly happy.

"That's great" Italy said happily.

"It's the third advent, not the fourth."

"Ah, that doesn't matter!"

Disapproving silence.

"_Germania_? About the panettone…"

"I'll eat it! I like it!"

Now, Italy looked up, amazed. "You don't."

"Yes! Yes, I do. Your bakery is good. It's just… a bit sweet. But I like it" Germany assured sincerely.

"Then, I'm happy!" Italy beamed and hugged his friend as hard as possible.

Germany gasped. "Hey, what are you… Watch out!" There was a mess of arms and legs. Germany struggled to free himself, but Italy hugged him so hard that he gave up.

"Italy?"

"Hmmm?" Italy's voice came from somewhere on his chest.

"However, thank you again."

"Non c'è nessun problema! I love you, capitano."

For a long time, there was comfortable silence.

Then, Germany gasped. "Wha- Wait - You do what?"

* * *

Italien = (ger) Italy

Germania = (it) Germany

non è vero = (it) Isn't it / Wouldn't you? (I hope oO)

non c'e nessun problema! = No problem!


End file.
